


Dead Poets

by sarahjacobs



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Character Death, DPS AU, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Suicide, also there is some newsbians, but like, everyones parents suck, its sometimes happy, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-02-17 10:45:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13075224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahjacobs/pseuds/sarahjacobs
Summary: “Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.”





	1. Hellton

**Author's Note:**

> first The Breakfast Club now Dead Poets Society? Someone tell me to come up with original ideas. It’s 2am, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this

David Jacobs stared straight ahead at the brown walls of Welton Academy. It wasn’t a warm, comforting brown it was more of a dark, cold brown. Now that David was here, he didn’t really want to stay. It had been a dream for him to attend Welton, just like his oldest brother had. He worked hard for it and he knew his parents had to work harder for the money. But now, it was like someone had taken David’s dreams, ripped them to shreds and cast them into a pit of darkness.

Everyone looked, sat, and talked the same way, they most likely thought the exact same way too. They were all products of society, robots built by honorable people who had influence over them when they were younger. Now David was one of the robots, falling into Society’s standards of what a man is. He would become a doctor, even though the sight of blood makes him squeamish and he hated being around people who were sick.

David remembered his younger brother, who sat next to him unable to be still. Les would have to survive through this school eventually, his parents were already talking about saving up money to see if he could also get in. Poor Les, David thought, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Not because Les was stupid, but for a nine year Les had many opinions and wasn’t afraid to announce them. That wouldn’t be taken well at this school.

Then his mind wanders to Sarah, his twin sister. She didn’t attend Henley Hall like she was supposed to, no, she was expelled. Sarah attends a public high school and lives with a friend instead of at home. David was unsure why Sarah felt the need to move out and never speak to her family again, he wished he knew the answer.

At the sound of bagpipes, David is nudged in the side by his father. David quickly looks towards the back of the room, watching as people carrying banners make their way to the front of the room. To be honest, David felt it was kind of unnecessary. It kind of felt like David was being initiated into something. He was, in a way, signing his life away to the people here in order to get a good education and go to Yale and become a doctor.

The boys make their way to the front and stand in a perfect line, the horrid bagpipes finally stop playing. David takes a moment to read each of the banners: Tradition, Honor, Discipline, Excellence.

"Boys, the light of the knowledge," The man (who David assumed was Mr. Pulitzer) said with a loud voice. Another man walked towards the front row of students and lit a candle, allowing the students to pass it on. Everyone applauded, David only joining in when Les kicked him.

"One hundred years ago, in 1859, forty one boys sat in this room and were asked the same question that now greets you at the start of each semester. Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?"

David watches as every student rises. David’s father nods at him to follow along, so David quickly rises.

In unison the boys began speaking, "Tradition! Honor! Discipline! Excellence!" And then, all at once, they sit back down.

"In her first year, Welton Academy graduated five students. Last year we graduated fifty one and more than seventy five percent of those went on to the Ivy League. This kind of accomplishment is the result of fervent dedication to the principles taught here.

“This is why your parents have been sending your sons. This is why we are the best preparatory school in the United States," Mr. Pulitzer brags. Everyone applauds once more, David forces a smile as his mother leans over to look at him.

“As you know, our beloved Mr. Portius of the English Department retired last term. You will have the opportunity later to meet his replacement Mr. Bryan Denton. Denton, himself an honor's graduate of this school and who, for the past several years, has been teaching at the highly regarded Chester School in London.” And then David’s clapping once more.

—

“Thrilling ceremony as usual, Dr. Pulitzer,” Mayer says as the Jacobs family make their way outside. David was glad to get outside, tired of being stuck in a room with snobs.

“You've been away too long.”

“Hello, Dr. Pulitzer,” Esther says this time, shaking the old man’s hand.

“Good to have you,” Dr. Pulitzer says with a smile.

“This is David,” Esther introduces, grabbing David’s arm and pulling him forward.  
  
“Mr. Jacobs, you have some big shoes to fill, young man. Your brother was one of our finest,” Dr. Pulitzer says.

“Thank you,” David says and grabs hold of Les’ hand to drag him away from the man.

David follows his parents to their car, holding tightly to Les’ hand as they weave through crowds. He sees younger boys crying and some complaining. When they reach the car, Les releases David’s hand and gets in quickly without saying goodbye. David tries not to take it personally.

“Well, son,” Mayer says, placing firm hands on his sons shoulder, “We’ll miss you. Be sure to call or make time to visit?”

David nods. His mother turns to him with teary eyes and a tissue in her hand. She dabs at her eyes before pulling David into a tight hug.

“You look just like Ezra,” She mutters and smooths out his sweater. “On his first day, he cried—”

“I remember,” David says. He had been eight years old when his oldest brother started school. Of course, Ezra had been thirteen when he started school at Welton whereas David was sixteen.

“Oh, he’d be proud of you,” Esther mumbles again and David feels his throat closing up. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Momma,” David says and gives her a quick hug before opening the car door for her. She gets in, dabs at her eyes and waves goodbye. He waits until the car is out of sight before turning to find his room.

David stood awkwardly at, well, he wasn’t exactly sure where he was. David nearly jumped when feeling a hand tap his shoulder, he quickly whirled around.

“Hey,” The boy say, “I hear we're gonna be roommates. I'm Jack Kelly.”  
  
“I'm David Jacobs,” He responda nervously and shakes the boy’s hand.

“Why’d you leave Balincrest?” Jack asks him and David is wondering how Jack knew that.

“My brother went here,” Was his reply.

“Oh, so you're that Jacobs!”

David resists the urge to roll his eyes as he looks for his suitcases.

—

“Hey, I heard you got the new kid. Looks like a stiff,” David hears a boy with bright red hair say. David tries not to seem effected as he walks past and into his room. “Oops.”

“Listen,” Jack speaks up. David notices he has a small accent (David can’t tell from where exactly), “Don't mind Albert. He's, uh, born with his foot in his mouth. Know what I mean?” Jack hits him on the shoulder with a piece of paper.  
  
“Rumor has it you did summer school,” A boy with dark brown hair says and points a finger towards Jack. Two other boys join him in the doorway. They were both short and one had glasses.

“Yep. Chemistry. My father thought I should get ahead. How was your summer, Slick?”

“Keen,” The boy says with a smirk. He enters the dull room, “Racer, door, close.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” ‘Racer’ mocks, but shuts the door behind him. David watches as they make themselves comfortable in the room. ‘Slick,’ as Jack had called him leans against the bed and pulls out a cigarette.

“Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?” He asks in a posh accent.

“Travesty! Horror! Decadence! Excrement!” They reply in unison. David hides a smile.  
  
“Okay, study group. Racer aced Latin. I didn't quite flunk English. So if you want, we got our study group.”

“Sure, Albert asked me too. Anyone mind including him?” Jack asks.  
  
“What's his specialty? Bootlicking?”  
  
“Uh, he's your roommate,” Jack argues.

“That’s not my fault,” The boy snorts.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” David realizes the boy was talking to him, “My name is Antonio Higgins.”

“Oh, this is David Jacobs,” Jack quickly introduces, feeling bad for not doing it first thing.

“Nice to meet you,” David quickly says, shaking his hand.

“Sean Conlon,” The boy with the cigarette says.

“Romeo DeJesus.”

“David’s brother was Ezra Jacobs,” Jack tells them and once again David tries not to roll his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Valedictorian, National Merit Scholar,” Sean says.

“Oh, well! Welcome to Hellton!” Race grins and they all laugh.

“It’s every bit as tough as they say. Unless you're a genius like Race,” Sean tells David. David smiles to himself and continues folding his clothes.

“He flatters me. That's why I'll help him with Latin.”

“And English, and trig,” Sean coughs. David jumps when he hears a knock on the door. He hears Sean curse and quickly out of the cigarette.

“It's open,” Jack calls. The door opens slowly and David turns to see a bald man dressed neatly in a gray suit.

“Father, I thought you'd gone,” Jack says as politely as he can.

“Mr. Kelly, sir,” Sean says respectfully.

“Keep your seats, fellas,” He says and they all sit back down, “Keep your seats. Jack, I've just spoken to Mr. Pulitzer. I think that you're taking too many extracurricular activities this semester. And I've decided that you should drop the school annual.”

“But I'm the assistant editor this year—”  
  
“Well, I'm sorry, Jack,” Mr. Kelly cuts him off.

“But, father, I can't. It wouldn't be fair!” Jack continues to argue, clearly upset.

“Fellas? Would you excuse us for a moment?” Mr. Kelly says. Everyone nods even though they knew it was a rhetorical question. David watches them leave the room and step into the hallway.

“Don’t you ever dispute me in public! Do you understand?” Mr. Kelly nearly growls.

“Father, I wasn't disputing you—”

“After you've finished medical school and  
you're on your own, then you can do as you damn well please. But until then, you do as I tell you. Is that clear?” He asks, his voice stern.

Jack opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. “Yes, sir. I'm sorry,” He apologizes.

“You know how much this means to your mother, don't you?” He asks, Jack forces a small smile.  
  
“Yes, sir. You know me. I'm always taking on too much,” Jack jokes.  
  
Mr. Kelly smiles, “Well, that's my boy. Now, listen. You need anything, you let us know, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

David watches as the three boys walk towards the hallway. He checks his watch then the small clock on his desk. David tries to ignore the boy’s conversation as he fixes the time. He looks up when hearing his name called by Race.  
  
“David, you're welcome to join us!” He says.

“Yeah, come along pal,” Sean tells him.  
  
“Thanks,” David replies anxiously.


	2. The Danburry’s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romeo goes to the Danburry’s and meets Chris, or Specs.

David's first day started slow. He had been woken up by Jack, who was already dressed and tying up his shoes. David watches him grab his books before officially getting up and changing. There was a knock on the door and Jack waited until David's sweater was all the on before opening it. 

"Hey, Romeo," Jack greets, allowing the short boy to enter. "Where's Crutchie, Spot and Race?" 

David realize "Spot" was Sean's nickname, but he was pretty sure he didn't remember meeting a "Crutchie."

"Already on their way to class. The hallway is a nightmare," Romeo tells him, his eyes on David. David shifts uncomfortably as he holds his notebooks close to his chest. 

"Dave, you're ready?" Jack asks him and David nods following after the two of them. 

"Slow down, boys! Slow down, you horrible  
phalanx of pubescence!" David heard someone shout, a teacher he assumed. 

They arrived at Science with a few minutes to spare. David chose a spot in the back and sighed in relief. Race sat beside him, "Hey."

"H—hey," David stutters. 

"Pick three laboratory experiments from the project list and report on them every five weeks. The first twenty questions at the end of chapter one are due tomorrow," Their science teacher explains as he gets students to pass out textbooks. Everyone seems to groan in unison, David included. 

—

"Agricolam," Mr. Wiesel says.

"Agricolam," David repeats with everyone else in the small classroom. 

"Agricolae."

"Agricolae."

"Agricolarum," He says, walking back and forth in front of the chalkboard. 

"Agricolarum," And then it repeats until the hour is over. 

—

David refused to put his head in his hands, if he did he might just fall asleep. He's suffered through Science, through Latin and trigonometry. Now was time for "English," if he had to read out of the textbook one more time he might loose it or get assigned more homework...he might just loose it. David will be known as "the kid who broke under pressure, and only on the first day!"

David takes at the front of the class, English was one of his favorite subjects. He could see the teacher standing behind the door at the front of the class. More and more students piled into class, David watched as Jack took a seat in the middle of the classroom. 

"Hey, spaz! Spaz!" Someone shouts and a paper flies close to David and hits a boy in the head. Everyone laughs. 

"Brain damage!"

It seemed as if that was a secret code for class to begin, because their teacher walked down the aisles and towards the door. He was whistling a tune as he made his way out of the room. David looks around in confusion, unsure of what to do. 

"Well, come on!" Mr. Denton says, peaking his head back into the room. David hesitantly rises and follows everyone. 

Mr. Denton whistled the entire way to wherever they were going. He paused in front of the trophy case and David took his spot in the back. 

""O Captain! My Captain!" Who knows where that comes from? Anybody?" Mr. Denton asks, David knows the answer but doesn't raise his hand. "Not a clue? It's from a poem by Walt Whitman about Mr. Abraham Lincoln. Now, this class, you can either call me Mr. Denton, or, if you're slightly more daring, O Captain! My Captain!”

"Now let me dispel a few rumors, so they don't fester into facts. Yes, I, too, attended Hellton and have survived. And no, at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety eight-pound weakling. I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face. 

"Now, Mr. Morris...Mr. Morris, where are you?" David sees a boy up front raise his hand hesitantly. "Mr. Morris, will you open your hymnal to page 542? Read the first stanza of the poem you find there."

""To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time?"" He asks hesitantly. 

"Yes. That's the one. Somewhat appropriate, isn't it?" Mr. Denton jokes. 

""Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,   
Old time is still a-flying:   
And this same flowers that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.""

"Thank you, Mr. Morris. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." The Latin term for that sentiment is "Carpe diem." Now who knows what that means?"

"Carpe diem. That's "seize the day,"" Race speaks out. 

"Very good, Mr..."

"Higgins."

"Higgins. Seize the day. "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." Why does the writer use these lines?"

"Because he's in a hurry!" Spot replies from where he's leaning against the wall. 

"No! Ding! Thank you for playing anyway," Mr. Denton calls back, "We are food for worms, lads. Because, believe it or not, each and every one of us in this room is, one day, gonna stop breathing, turn cold, and die." He pauses. 

"I would like you to step forward over here and peruse some of the faces from the past. You've walked past them many times, but I don't think you've really looked at them," Mr. Denton says, ushering them forward. 

"They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts, full of hormones just like you. Invincible just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you. Their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see, gentlemen, those boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you."

David hesitantly takes a step forward. 

"Go on, lean in. Listen. Do you hear it?"

David takes another step forward, listening closely. 

"Carpe," Mr. Denton whispers, although he pretends it's not him, "Hear it? Carpe. Carpe Diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary."

—

David follows Jack and his friends after class was over. 

"That was weird," Crutchie, as David learned, said.

"But different," Jack defends. 

"Spooky if you ask me," Romeo replies. 

"Do you think he'll test us on that stuff?" Albert asks cautiously. 

"Oh, come on, DaSilva. Don't you get anything?" Spot asks him. 

"What?" Albert asks, "What?" 

—

David stares at his shoes as he sits in the locker room. 

"Let's go, boys. Hustle up in here. That means you, Conlon," The teacher says. Spot looks over at him, looking slightly offended. 

"All right, who's up for our study group tonight, guys?"

David keeps his eyes trained to the floor as other boys reply to Race's question. 

"Well, I can't make it, guys. I have to have dinner at the Danburry's house tonight," Romeo tells them. 

"Ooh, the Danburry's," Spot teases. 

"Who are the Danburry's?" Jack questions. 

"Big alums! How'd you swing that?" 

"Friends of my dad's. They're probably in their nineties or something. Sounds great, doesn't it?"

"Anything's better than Hellton hash," Jack tells him. 

"I'll second that," Spot agrees. 

"Yeah, well, we'll see."

David shifts uncomfortably from where he was sitting and scratches at his arm. He jumps when someone snaps their fingers in front of his face. 

"Hey!" Jack says, placing a towel over his head  before drying it off, "Want to come to the study group tonight?" 

David can feel his face grow hot as he looked up at Jack who was only wearing a towel around his waist. 

"Uh, no. No. I've, I-I've got some history I wanna do," David stutters. 

"Suit yourself," Jack says walking off. David pretends he was wasn't looking at the freckles across Jack's shoulders. 

—

David sat at his desk, a towel around his shoulders as he glared at his notebook. 

SEIZE THE DAY! He wrote in giant letters. 

He stares at it for a long time before finally ripping it out and throwing it away. He sighs and grabs one of his textbooks to start on homework. 

—

"Ready, DeJesus?" Mr. Snyder asks, walking down the stairs and towards the entryway. 

"Ready to go, sir," Romeo replies, hurriedly following after him. 

It was a silent car ride, Romeo was thankful for that. The last thing he needed was Mr. Snyder asking him about classes and grades. 

They pull into the neighborhood and Romeo grins at the passing people taking evening strolls. Mr. Snyder follows him to the door. 

Romeo rings the doorbell and waits patiently. A tall boy with glasses opens the door and smiles. Romeo stands in awe, only snapping out of his daze when the boy speaks. 

"Can I help you?" He asks. 

"Hi. R-Romeo DeJesus. Uh, Dr. Snyder," He introduces. 

"Hi," He giggles, actually giggles. Romeo nearly swoons. 

"This the Danburry's, right?" Romeo manages to say without stuttering. 

"Are, are you here to see Cher?" 

"Mrs. Danburry?" Romeo asks confused. 

The boy giggles once more, "No."

"I'm sorry," He hears someone say. An older woman appears at the doorway, "Thank you, Chris. I'm Mrs. Danburry. You must be Romeo."

"Yes," Romeo replies. 

"Back by nine?" She asks Mr. Snyder. He nods once and leaves Romeo be, "Please, come on in." She pulls Romeo inside, leaving him no choice. 

"Chris, come on. What are you doing?" He hears a girl shout. 

"Cher, I'm coming!" He can hear him yell back. 

"Romeo! How are you?" An older man says this time, holding out his hand, "Joe Danburry."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Romeo says, shaking his hand firmly. 

"Well, he's the spitting image of his father, isn't he?" He asks his wife, "How is he? Come on in."

"He's great. He just did a big case for G.M," Romeo tells them, following them to the living 

"Yeah, I know where you're headed. Like father, like son, huh?"

—

"How was dinner?" Spot asks when seeing Romeo lean against the door with a stupid smile. 

"Huh?" Romeo asks, looking over at them. 

"How was dinner?" Spot repeats. 

"Terrible. Awful," Romeo tells them. 

"What? What happened?" Spot asks curiously. 

"Tonight I met the most beautiful..." Romeo pauses, wondering if he should tel them that he was infatuated with a boy and not a girl. He chooses to lie. "girl I have ever seen in my entire life."

"Are you crazy?" Jack nearly yells, "What's wrong with that?"

"She's practically engaged," Romeo says and realizes he would have to lie once more, "To Chet Danburry."

"Too bad," Crutchie frowns. 

"Too bad? It's worse than too bad, Crutch. It's a tragedy. A girl this beautiful in love with such a jerk?" Romeo sighs and slumps in his chair. 

"All the good ones go for jerks, you know that," Crutchie tells him. 

"Yeah, forget her," Albert demands, "Open your trig book and try and figure out problem five."

"I can't just forget her, DaSilva. And I certainly can't think about trig!" Romeo yells. 

"We got it!"

"All right, gentlemen, five minutes. Let's go!" Mr. Snyder says, entering the study room. 

"Did you see her naked?" Spot asks him quietly. 

"Very funny, Conlon," Romeo says rolling his eyes.

"That wouldn't be a, uh, radio in your lap, wouldn't it, Mr. Morris?" He asks. Romeo turns to see Crutchie shake his head no. 

"No, sir. A science experiment. Radar," He saves.


	3. Mr. Denton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dead Poets Society is formed.

"Gentlemen, open your texts to page 21 of this introduction. Mr. Kelly, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled "Understanding Poetry?"" Mr. Denton asks him.

"'Understanding Poetry,' by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, PhD. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme and figures of speech, then ask two questions: one, how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered and two, how important is that objective? Question one rates the poem's perfection; question two rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining the poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter." Jack pauses and looks around the classroom before continuing.

"'If the poem's score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph and its importance is plotted on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields the measure of its greatness.

"A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to evaluate poems in this matter grows, so will, so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry.""

"Excrement," Mr. Denton says, "That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe. We're talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American Bandstand? Oh, I like Byron. I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it. Now, I want you to rip out that page."

David nearly chokes on air, he stares at Mr. Denton with wide eyes.

"Go on. Rip out the entire page. You heard me. Rip it out!"

David looks around at his classmates, none of them were ripping the pages.

"Rip it out! Go on. Rip it out!" Mr. Denton encourages. The sound of paper ripping causes David to turn around. Spot holds the paper up with a large smirk on his face.

"Thank you, Mr. Conlon. Gentlemen, tell you what. Don't just tear out that page, tear out the entire introduction. I want it gone. History! Leave nothing of it. Rip it out! Rip! Be gone, J. Evans Pritchard, PhD!"

More and more rips could be heard and David watches everyone begin tearing the introduction out. He looks over at Race who hesitated before ripping it out himself. David sighs and begins ripping it also. What would his mother think?

"Rip. Shred. Tear. Rip it out! I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard. We'll perforate it, put it on a roll. It's not the Bible. You're not gonna go to hell for this! Go on. Make a clean tear. I want nothing left of it!" Mr. Denton shouts as he heads back into his small office.

"What the hell is going on here?" Mr. Wiesel shouts, entering the room. David freezes as he stares at the old man. From the corner of his eye he can see Spot shove the paper in his mouth.

"I don't hear enough rips!" Mr. Denton says, entering the room again with a trash can.

"Mr. Denton," Mr. Wiesel says in surprise.

"Mr. Wiesel," Mr. Denton greets.

"I'm sorry. I...I didn't know you were here," Mr. Wiesel says, slightly embarrassed.

"I am," Mr. Denton replies.

"So you are. Excuse me."

"Keep ripping, gentlemen! This is a battle. A war. And the casualties could be your hearts and souls," Mr. Denton says. Spot spits his paper into the trash can, "Thank you, Conlon. Armies of academics going  forward, measuring poetry. No! We'll not have that here. No more Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now, my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again! You will learn to savor words and language. No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.

"Now I see that look in Mr. Morris' eye, like 19th century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right?" Crutchie doesn't answer, "Maybe. Mr. Kasprzak, you may agree with him, thinking, "Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard  
and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions." I've a little secret for you. Huddle up. Huddle up!"

Everyone rises and leans close to where Mr. Denton squats in the middle of classroom.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering—these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love—these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman:

"”O me! O life! of the question of these recurring,  
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,  
What good amid these O me, O life—  
Answer: That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”"

"What will your verse be?" Mr. Denton asks them.

—

"Hey, I found his senior annual in the library!" Everyone looks up as Jack takes a seat at the table. Albert quickly reaches over and grabs it. David tries to look over Albert's shoulder to see.

"Listen to this: Captain of the soccer team, editor of the school annual, Cambridge bound, thigh man, and Dead Poets Society," Jack repeats what he had read.

"Man most likely to do anything," Albert reads and they all laugh.

"Thigh man! Mr. D was a hell-raiser," Spot grins excitedly.

"What's the Dead Poets Society?" Crutchie wondered aloud.

"I don't know."

"Is there a picture in the annual?" Race asks but his question is drowned out by them asking more about the Dead Poets Society.

"That boy there, see me after lunch," Mr. Pulitzer says and Albert quickly hides the book from view.

—

"Mr. Denton! Mr. Denton! Sir?" Jack shouts as the group chase after their teacher.

"Say something," Spot nudges Jack.

"O Captain! My Captain!" Jack tries.

Mr. Denton turns around with a smile, "Gentlemen."

"We were just looking in your old annual," Jack begins, passing it towards the middle-aged man.

"Oh my God. No, that's not me," He laughs, squatting down, "Stanley "The Tool" Wilson. God."

Jack hesitates but squats also, "What was the Dead Poets Society?"

Mr. Denton turns to face him, "I doubt the present administration would look too favorably upon that."

"Why? What was it?" Jack continues, trying to coax him into telling.

Mr. Denton hesitates and looks around.

"Gentlemen, can you keep a secret?" He finally asks.

"Sure, yeah." They all squat down and lean closer towards him.

"The Dead Poets was dedicated to "sucking the marrow out of life." That's a phrase from Thoreau we would invoke at the beginning of every meeting. You see, we would gather at the old Indian cave and take turns reading from Thoreau, Whitman, Shelly— the biggies —even some of our own verse. And, in the enchantment of the moment, we'd let poetry work its magic."

"You mean, it was a bunch of guys sitting around reading poetry?" Romeo summarizes.

"No, Mr. DeJesus, it wasn't just guys," He says, sounding a little offended, "We weren't a Greek organization. We were Romantics. We didn't just read poetry, we let it drip from our tongues like honey. Spirits soared, women swooned and gods were created, gentlemen. Not a bad way to spend an evening, eh?"

They all stare at him in wonder and confusion.

"Thank you, Mr. Kelly," He finally says, "For this stroll down Amnesia Lane. Burn that, especially my picture." And with that he rises and continues his walk, whistling the same tune he had on the first day of school.

David looks to see Jack still kneeling on the grass.

"Dead Poets Society," Jack repeats to himself.

"What?" Spot asks but the bell rings before Jack could repeat himself.

"I say we go tonight," Jack tells them rising back to his feet.

"Tonight?" Spot blurted.

"Now, wait a minute!" Albert yelped.

"Everybody in?" Jack asks looking at all of them.

"Where's this cave he's talking about?" Crutchie challenged.

" It's beyond the stream. I know where it is," Jack answers.

"That's miles!"

"Sounds boring to me," Albert replies.

They all begin walking towards the school.

"Don't come," Spot offers.

"Do you know how many demerits we're talking, Conlon?" Albert quizzed him.

"So don't come. Please," Spot declared, looking back at the red haired boy.

"Look, all I'm saying is that we have to be careful," Albert cautioned, "We can't get caught."

"No shit, Sherlock," Spot scoffed.

"You boys there, hurry up!" Mr. Snyder shouted at them.

"All right. Who's in?" Jack challenges, turning to face his friends. He catches David's eye, but David quickly looks away.

"Oh, come on, Jack. Snyder's the—"

"Forget Snyder! No. Who's in?"

"I'm in," Spot confirmed.

"I'm warning you! Move!" Snyder shouts.

"Me, too," Albert says, although he was still hesitant.

"I don't know, Jack," Crutchie commented walking away from the group.

"What?" Jack asks following after him.

"Crutch! Charlie, come on!" Spot started but was cut off by Race.

"His grades are hurting, Sean," Race tells him.

"You can help him, Race," Jack attempts.

"What is this, a midnight study group?" Crutchie wonders.

"Forget it, Crutchie, you're coming. Race, your grades hurting too?"

"I'll try anything once," Race shrugs, confirming that he'll join.

"Except sex," Spot teases him. Race laughs sarcastically as they rush towards the school.

"I'm in as long as we're careful."

"What about you, Romeo?" Spot asks, stopping him before he can go inside.

"I don't know, Sean," Romeo says.

"Come on, Romeo. I'll help you get Chris," Spot offers.

"Yeah? How?" Romeo challenged him.

"Women swoon!" Spot repeats, running into the school.

"But why do they swoon?" Romeo shouts chasing after him, "Spot, tell me why they swoon. Spot!"

—

"You're not listening," Jack whispers, his finger planted on the map, "Look, you follow the stream to the waterfall. It's right there. It's gotta be like that—"

"I don't know. It's starting to sound dangerous," Albert worried.

"Oh. Why don't you just stay home?" Spot asks, annoyed at his roommate.

"Hey, you're crazy."

"For God's sake, stop chattering and sit down!" Mr. Wiesel tells the boys in the back.

David looks up from his assignment when Jack slides into the seat next to him.

"Hey Mush, Elmer," Jack greets the two boys sitting across from David.

David quickly looks back at his assignment.

"Davey, are you coming tonight?" Jack whispers, his face extremely close to David's.

"No."

"Why not?" Jack spoke, "God, you were there. You heard Denton. Don't you want to do something about—"

"Y-Yes, but—" David trails off.

"But," Jack laughs, "but what?"

"Denton said that everybody took turns reading and I don't wanna do that," David stammers. He really wished Jack would put a little space between them.

"Gosh. You really have a problem with that, don't you?" Jack asks him.

"N-No, I, I don't have a problem. Jack, I just— I don't wanna do it, okay?"

"All right," Jack agrees. He's silent for only a few moments, "What if you didn't have to read? What if you just came and listened?"

"That's not how it works," David argues.

"Forget how it works! What if...what if they said it was okay?" Jack asks him eagerly.

"What?" David asks, tearing his eyes away from his assignment, "What, are you gonna go up and ask them if—" Jack shrugs and David shakes his head, "No, no."

"I'll be right back."

"Jack? Jack?" David protests. He resists the urge to hide his face in his arms. David turns to find Wiesel grading papers. He looks over at Jack who's whispering to the group.

"Oh, shut up, will you?" Mr. Wiesel asks them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> weird way to end the chapter but it was almost at 2,000 words so


	4. Dead Poets Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Dead Poets Society meeting.

David pushes his way through the crowd of people in the bathroom, trying to brush his teeth. Jack had never told him if he was able to go to the meeting or not. David wanted to, he really did but the thought of speaking out loud made him want to vomit.

"It's my stuff for my asthma, okay? Could you give that back, please? Could you give that back?" He hears a boy say as he reaches over the sink to wet his toothbrush.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and quickly turns around. Jack Kelly smirks at him, "You're in." David feels a blush grow on his face and smiles to himself.

"Cut out that racket in there!" Mr. Snyder shouts at the boy's.

—

Soon it grew dark and everyone was settled in for the night. David followed after his new friends, cloak buttoned and his heart beating too fast. Snyder's dog barks and they quickly drop him treats to keep him quiet.

"Come on. Let's get out. Go! Go!"

They make it to the courtyard, only one flashlight on in case as they run close together. As they get further and further away from the school David's heart finally reaches a normal pace.

"I'm a dead poet!" Spot shouts, scaring Race.

"Spot!" Race shouts.

"Guys, over here!"

"You're funny. You're real funny," Race says annoyed.

"It's too wet," Crutchie complains as Jack helps him into the cave.

"Sean, you trying to smoke us out of here?" Albert groans as Spot tries to start a fire.

"All right, all right. Forget the fire," Jack tells Spot.

"Forget it, forget it," Spot repeats, taking a seat. 

"Lets go, gentlemen," Jack begins, "I hereby reconvene the Dead Poets Society, Welton Chapter. The, uh, meetings will be conducted by myself and the other new initiates now present. Uh, David Jacobs, because he prefers not to read, will keep the minutes of the meetings. I'll now read the traditional opening message by society member, Henry David Thoreau: "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life."”

"I'll second that," Spot agrees.

"”To put to rout all that was not life, and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived,"” Jack continues, "And, uh, Denton's marked a bunch of other pages."

"All right, intermission," Spot interrupts, "Dig deep. Right here, right here, lay it down."

"On the mud?" Race asks incredulously, "We're gonna put our food on the mud?"

"Racer, put your coat down. Picnic blanket," Spot smirks.

"Yes, sir!" Race says placing his coat onto  
the mud.

"Don't keep anything back, either. You guys are always bumming my smokes," Spot says as they all lay food onto Race's coat.

"Raisins?" Race asks.

"Yeah. Wait a minute," Spot picks up something from the coat, "Who gave us half a roll?"

"I'm eating the other half," Albert admits.

"Come on," Spot rolls his eyes.

"What? You want me to put it back?" Albert asks him.

"It was a dark and rainy night. And this old lady, who had a passion for jigsaw puzzles, sat by herself in her house at her table to complete the new jigsaw puzzle. As she pieced the puzzle together, she realized to her astonishment that the image that was formed was her very own room, and the figure in the center of the puzzle as she completed it was herself. And with  
trembling hands, she placed the last four pieces and stared in horror at the face of a demented madman at the window. The last thing that this old lady ever heard was the sound of breaking glass," Jack recites.

"No shit," Romeo replies.

"Yes. This is true. This is true," Jack defends.

"I've got one that's even better than that. I do. There's a young married couple and they're driving through the forest at night from a long trip. And they run out of gas and there's a madman on the loose—" Albert begins.

"Oh, that thing with the hands?" Spot interrupts.

"This is the madman on the roof?" Crutchie questions.

"I love that story!" Albert exclaims.

"I told you that one," Spot retorts.

"You did not. I got that in, uh, camp in sixth grade!" Albert argues.

"Yeah. Were you six last year?"

""In a mean abode in the Shankill Road  
lived a man named William Bloat. Now he had a wife, the plague of his life, who continually got his goat. And one day at dawn with her night shift on, he slit her bloody throat." Oh, and it gets worse—" Crutchie tells them.

"Do you wanna hear a real poem?" Spot asks them all.

"Want this?" Race offers the book to Spot.

"No, I don't need it. You take it," Spot grins.

"What, did you bring one?" Race says in surprise.

"You memorized a poem?"

"I didn't memorize a poem," Spot scoffs.

"An original piece by Sean Conlon," Race says amazed.

"An original piece," Romeo repeats.

"Take center stage."

"You know this is history. Right? This is history."

Spot smirks as they all turn their flashlights towards him. As they are all distracted by him "writing" a poem he unfolds the paper in his hand. When the boys notice what it is they become shocked then seemed to be fascinated by it. David looks away, his face burning bright red.

"Oh wow," Race mutters.

"Where did you get that?" Albert asks, eyes not moving from the picture.

“"Teach me to love? Go teach thyself more wit: I, chief professor, am of it.  
The god of love, if such a thing there be,  
May learn to love from me."”

"Wow! Did you write that?" Jack asks and David notices he was also staring wide-eyed at the picture.

"Abraham Cowley," Spot says, "Okay, who's next?"

 

"Alfred Lord Tennyson," Jack tells them,  
"” _Come my friends,_  
Tis not too late to seek a newer world  
for my purpose holds to sail beyond the  
sunset.  
And though we are not now that strength which in old days  
Moved earth and heaven; that which we  
are, we are;  
One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."”

"”Then I had religion, then I had a vision,”” Race reads, “"I could not turn from their revel in derision. Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track. Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black—"”

"Race, Race," Spot chants.

"...Cutting through the forest with a golden track. Then I saw the Congo creeping through the black, cutting through the forest with a golden track," They all chant as they make their way back to the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO IMPORTANT. So I actually don’t know when to use italics or jus the double quotation marks when like writing quotes from poems or when using the whole poem. If anyone knows let a struggling gal know? Bc rn it’s a mess and it’s bugging me so I need to fix it :)


	5. A Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets chased by Walt Whitman and auditions for a play.

"A man is not very tired," Mr. Denton tells his class, "A man is exhausted...and don't use very sad. Use—" He pauses and stares around the room, "C'mon Mr. DeJesus, you twerp."

"Morose?" Romeo offers.

"Exactly!" Mr. Denton agrees, "Morose. Now, language was developed for one endeavor, and that is? Mr. Jacobs? Come on! Are you a man or an amoeba?"

David just stares at him blankly. Mr. Denton sighs and turns to Jack, "Mr. Kelly?"

"Uh, to communicate," Jack offers.

"No! To woo women!" Mr. Denton jokes, "Today we're going to be talking about William Shakespeare."

"Oh, God!" Someone groans.

"I know a lot of you looked forward to this about as much as you look forward to root canal work. We're gonna talk about Shakespeare as someone who writes something very interesting. Now, many of you have seen Shakespeare done very much like this, "O Titus, bring your friend hither." But if any of you have seen Mr. Marlon Brando, you know, Shakespeare can be different."

Everyone begins to laugh.

"Friend, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears," He impersonates, "You can also imagine, maybe, John Wayne as Macbeth going, "Well, is this a dagger I see before me?""

They all gather together, allowing Mr. Denton to read to them. He holds the book tightly, doing impersonations of different people as he reads,

"”Dogs, sir? Oh, not just now. I do enjoy a good dog once in a while, sir. You can have yourself a three-course meal from one dog. Start with your canine crudites, go to your Fido flambe for main course and for dessert, a Pekingese  
parfait. And you can pick your teeth with a little paw."”

—

"Why do I stand up here?" Mr. Denton asks one day as he stands on top of his desk, "Anybody?"

"To feel taller," Spot calls from his seat in the back.

Mr. Denton uses his foot to ring the small bell, "No, thanks for playing, Mr. Conlon. I stand upon my desk to remind yourself that we must constantly look at things in a different way."

He takes a minute to looks around his classroom, "You see, the world looks very different from up here. You don't believe me? Come see for yourself."

He ushers for them to get up, "Come on. Come on! Just when you think you know something, you have to look at it in another way. Even though it may seem silly or wrong, you must try! Now, when you read, don't just consider what the author thinks. Consider what you think."

Jack goes first, he stands tall staring at everything he can before he's moved by Spot.

"Boys, you must strive to find your own voice, because the longer you wait to begin, the less likely you are to find it at all. Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Don't be resigned to that. Break out! Don't just walk off the edge like lemmings. Look around you!"

David watches as Romeo and Race stand on top close together. He watches Mush help Crutchie up and down from the desk. A bell rings as David gets closer to the desk.

"Dare to strike out and find new ground," Mr. Denton continues, "Now, in addition to your essays, I would like you to compose a poem of your own, an original work."

Everyone groans and Mr. Denton laughs and flickers the lights, "That's right! You have to deliver it aloud in front of the class on Monday. Bonne chance, gentlemen." And with that he steps out of the classroom.

David steps onto the desk but he's unable to view everything differently now that his mind is preoccupied with writing a poem. He was going to fail.

"Mr. Jacobs?" Mr. Denton says, peaking his head back into the room. David nearly falls off the desk, "Don't think that I don't know that this assignment scares the hell out of you, you mole." Everyone laughs and Mr. Denton turns the light off. David stares at the doorway and listens to everyone laugh before jumping down from the desk.

—

"We got it, Crutchie. We got it! Radio Free American!" Race exclaims turning the volume up on their illegal radio.

Crutchie grins at him and grabs his hand, lifting Race to his feet. They twirl each other around, laughing and dancing. Race takes off the headphones and hands them to Crutchie, allowing the boy to hear for himself.

—

David stares down at his notebook, crossing out words and writing in new ones. No matter how hard he tried everything he wrote sounded stupid. He stares at the other three crumpled up papers beside him and groans. David marks out yet another word. David looks up when seeing Jack rush into the room, laughing to himself. David flips his notebook over so Jack can't see.   

Jack kneels beside David's bed and lays a poster on his lap, "I found it," Jack tells him

"You found what?" David grins, reading over the poster.

"What I wanna do right now. What's really, really inside me."

"A Midsummer Night's Dream?" David asks him.

"This is it!" Jack exclaims excitedly.

"What is this?"

"It's a play, dummy," Jack tells him.

"I know that," David smiles looking over at Jack, "I—wh...wha-what does it have to do with you?"

"Right. They're putting it on at Henley Hall. Open tryouts. Open tryouts!" Jack cheered.

"Yes, so?" David questioned.

"So," Jack beamed, drumming his hands against David's bed. He gets up and jumps onto his own bed, "Ah! I'm gonna act. Yes, yes!" He grabs his blanket and wraps it around his shoulders like a cape, "I'm gonna be an actor!"

He jumps off his bed, "Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to try this. My dad’s friend Medda teaches theatre, I tried to go to summer stock auditions last year, but, of course, my father wouldn't let me."

He steps onto David's bed and tosses the paper on his desk, "For the first time in my whole life I know what I wanna do, and for the first time I'm gonna do it whether my father wants me to or not! Carpe diem!"

David collects the paper and stacks it back, "Jackie, Jack, hold on a minute. How are you gonna be in a play if your father won't let you?"

"First," Jack begins, "I gotta get the part, then I can worry about that."

"Yeah, but won't he kill you if he finds out you went to an audition and didn't even tell him?" David quizzes him.

Jack moves so he's standing in front of David, “No, no, no, no. As far as I'm concerned, he won't have to know about any of this."

"Well, that's impossible," David cautioned.

"Bullshit! Nothing's impossible," Jack spluttered.

"Well, why don't you just call him and ask him? And m-maybe he'll say yes," David advised.

Jack scoffs, "That's a laugh!" He throws his blanket back onto his bed, "If I don't ask him, at least I won't be disobeying him."

David leans forward, "Yeah, but if he said—"

"Jesus, David!" Jack shouts, causing David to flinch, "Whose side are you on?"

David stares up at him before quickly looking away.

"I mean," Jack says softly. He grabs the flyer from David and sits by the window, "I haven't even gotten the part yet, can't I even enjoy the idea for a little while?"

David doesn't respond, feeling guilty for not backing Jack up. He sets the loose sheets of paper aside and leans back against the wall.

"You're coming to the meeting this afternoon?" Jack asks him.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Nothing Mr. Denton has to say means shit to you, does it, Dave?" Jack asks, moving from his spot on the window once more.

"W-what is that supposed to mean?"

"You're in the club! Being in the club means being stirred up by things. You look about as stirred up as a cesspool!" Jack explained.

"S-so...you want me out?"

"No! I want you in, but being in means you gotta do something. Not just say you're in!"

"Well, listen, Jack," David begins growing upset, "I-I appreciate this concern, but I-I'm not like you. All right? You...you, you say things and people listen. I'm, I'm not like that!"

"Don't you think you could be?" Jack suggested.

"No! I—I, I don't know, but that's not the point. The, the point is that there's nothing you can do about it, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine. All right?" David stammered.

"No," Jack tells him.

David looks up at him angrily, "What do you mean, "no?""

"No," Jack repeats with a smile. And with that he quickly grabs David's notebook and flees to his side of the room.

"Give me—" David quickly chases after him, "Jack! Jack, give that back!"

Jack jumps from desk to desk, bed to bed, David chasing after him desperately trying to get his notebook back.

""We are dreaming of a—" poetry! I'm being chased by Walt Whitman!" Jack howls with laughter. "Okay, okay."

"What are you guys doing?" Albert asks barging into the room, "I'm sure you see this chemistry—"

He's cut off by Jack stealing his textbook.

"Hey, give me...Jack, give me," Albert begins chasing after Jack now, "Don't be immature. Come on. I need my—"

"Give it to me! Give it to me!" Spot shouts, rushing into the room when hearing all the commotion.

"Spot, help me!" Jack shouts as they toss the textbook back and forth.

—

Romeo circles once more on his bike, staring back at the school. He checks behind him once more before biking through the Hellton gates and down tithe street. Romeo bikes down a hill, yelling at the geese causing them to fly away. He laughs at himself.

He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, maybe to see Chris but who was there to know?

Sure enough, he ended up at the public school he learned Chris and his girlfriend attended. Romeo paused and listened to the band goofing off. He smiled at the shouts of public school kids cheering on the band and the mascot dancing on top of the bus. Romeo placed the sunglasses back on his face and looked around the crowd of teenagers for Chris.

He could see Cher cheering, a large smile on her face. Of course, she was a cheerleader. Romeo's smile fell when seeing Chris walk towards her and pull her towards the bus.

—

"Now, devotees may argue that one sport or game is inherently better than another. For me, sport is actually a chance for us to have other human beings push us to excel. I want you all to come over here and take a slip of paper and line up single file," Mr. Denton explains as they follow him to the soccer field. "I want you all to come over here and take a slip of paper and line up single file."

"Mr. Higgins, time to inherit the earth," Mr. Denton says ripping off a slip of paper and handing it to Race. "Mr. Morris, rise above your name. I want you to hand these out to the boys, one apiece."

David files into line, heart pounding quickly. What if he missed the ball? What if Denton made him read his over and over?

"You know what to do, Morris," Mr. Denton shouts.

""Oh to struggle against great odds. To meet enemies undaunted,"" Crutchie reads loudly.

"Sounds to me like you're daunted. Say it again like you're undaunted," Mr. Denton demands.

""Oh to struggle against great odds. To meet enemies undaunted,"" Crutchie reads even louder and with feeling.

"Now go on!"

Crutchie hesitates before kicking the soccer ball with his good leg. It only goes a little ways but all the boys cheer him on.

"Yes!" Mr. Denton cheers, "Next."

""To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports,"" A boy named Blink reads.

"Next. Louder!"

""Oh, I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave,"" Finch reads this time.

""To mount the scaffolds. To advance to the muzzle of guns with perfect nonchalance,"" Mush shouts.

"Come on, Higgins!" Mr. Denton says putting on music, "Listen to the music!"

""To dance, clap hands, exalt, shout, skip, roll on, float on!""

"Yes!"

""Oh, to have life henceforth the poem of new joys," Elmer reads with no emotion, barely kicking the ball in the process.

"Oh! Boo!" Mr. Denton says, "Come on, Sean, let it fill your soul!"

""To indeed be a god!"" Sean shouts, raising his fists and shaking them.

David grows more and more nervous as the line gets shorter and shorter. He crumpled the paper then smooths it out again over and over. David listens as other boys shout their poems enthusiastically and kick the ball. He would definitely miss the ball. David listened as Jack shouted the short Walt Whitman poem, his heart beat even faster. That was for a reason other than speaking though.

Finally it was David's turn. He stared straight ahead at the plain grass. "Do I...I contradict myself? Ve-ery well, then I contra—contradict myself, I—I am large, I contain multitudes!" He reads trying to be as loud as possible.

"Louder!" Mr. Denton shouts at him.

David closes his eyes and shouts, "Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself! I...I am large, I contain multitudes!" He kicks the ball, nearly crying in relief when he he actually kicks the ball.

"Very good, David!"

—

"Spot, I got the part!" Jack yells excitedly, running down the hallway, "I'm gonna play Puck! I'm gonna play Puck!"

"What did he say?" Race asks looking over at Crutchie.

"Puck?" Crutchie asks confused.

"That's the main part!" Jack shouts in the younger boys face.

"Great, Jack!" Romeo congratulated him.

David stands at the doorway of his room, watching Jack run towards Spot and Albert.

"Spot, I got it!"

"Congratulations. Good for you, Jack. Good for you!"

Jack grabs hold of David's shoulder and they walk into the shared room. David grins excitedly, shaking Jack's shoulder.

Jack sits at his desk and stares at the typewriter, "Okay, okay, okay, okay."

"Jack, how are you gonna do this?" David asks, sitting at the edge of Jack's bed and against the wall. David puts his elbow on Jack's desk and leans his head on the palm of his hand.

"They need a letter of permission from my father and Mr. Snyder."

"You're not gonna write it!" David says in disbelief.

"Oh yes, I am!" Jack laughs.

"Oh, Jack. Jack, you're crazy," David says shaking his head. Jack leans towards him, making a small noise of excitement. David flushed red at the closeness of the boy. Jack leans back and stomps his feet excitedly.

"Okay," Jack mumbles to himself, ""I am writing to you on behalf of my son Jack Kelly."" This is great!"


	6. To Chris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romeo calls Chris & Spot plays the Saxophone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a mention of suicide, I believe,,

"To Chris," Romeo reads. He feels his heart pounding as he stands in front of the classroom, clutching his poem tightly. Romeo refuses to look up at his friends and fellow classmates.

"Who's Chris?" He hears someone whisper.

"Mmm, Chris," Someone else whispers.

Romeo takes a deep breath and shakily continues reading, "I see a sweetness in hi—her smile. Bright light shines from her eyes. But life is complete; contentment is mine, just knowing that..." His confidence slowly fades when hearing small snickers. "Just knowing that she's alive."

He folds his paper quickly, scared someone would try to take it. Then they would find out, they would know and he wouldn't be treated the same. "Sorry, Captain. It's stupid."

"No, no. It's not stupid. It's a good effort. It touched on one of the major themes, love. A major theme not only in poetry, but life. Mr. Kasprzak, you were laughing. You're up!"

Elmer made his way to the small stage Mr. Denton has set up. He takes his time unfolding his paper, "The cat sat on the mat."

"Congratulations, Mr. Kasprzak. Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale," Mr. Denton says and everyone begins laughing, "We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you. I don't mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don't let your poems be ordinary. Now, who's next?"

David tries not to show he's scared out of his mind. He forces himself not to slouch and curl in on himself. David can see his hands shaking uncontrollably and he is certainly going to throw up.

"Mr. Jacobs, I see you sitting there in agony," Mr. Denton says. David stares at him with wide eyes, "Come on, David, step up. Let's put you out of your misery."

David wasn't sure he could even respond without throwing up everywhere. He took a deep breath, "I, I didn't do it. I didn't write a poem."

"Mr. Jacobs thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, David? Isn't that your worst fear?"

David's face turns bright red and he feels like he's being choked.

"Well I think you're wrong. I think you have  
something inside of you that is worth a great deal," Mr. Denton tells him. He walks towards his chalkboard. David could easily make a run for it. He could hide in room until the school year was over.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. W. W. Mr. Denton writes on the board.

"Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don't know, a yawp is a loud cry or yell. Now, David, I would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric yawp. Come on. You can't yawp sitting down. Let's go. Come on. Up!" Mr. Denton encourages but David feels glued to his seat.

"You gotta get in yawping stance."

David shakily stands up and walks to the front of the class. He can feel his hands sweating and his knees are knocking together. David was positive the entire class could hear his heart thumping in his chest.

"A yawp," David says finally.

"No, not just a yawp. A barbaric yawp!" Mr. Denton continues.

"Yawp," David says quietly.

"Come on, louder!" Mr. Denton says.

"Yawp," David manages to say a bit louder.

"No, that's a mouse. Come on. Louder!"

David was growing annoyed, "Yawp."

"Oh, good God, boy. Yell like a man!" Mr. Denton yells at him.

"Yawp!" David shouts, clenching his fists.

"There it is. You see, you have a barbarian in you, after all."

David tries to rush back to his seat but Mr. Denton stops him and twirls him back around, "Now, you don't get away that easy," Mr. Denton grins. "The picture of Uncle Walt up there. What does he remind you of? Don't think. Answer."

David stares at the picture, "A m-m-madman."

"What kind of madman? Don't think about it. Just answer again," He says circling around David.

"A c-crazy madman," David stammers, following Mr. Denton.

"No, you can do better than that. Free up your mind. Use your imagination. Say the first thing that pops into your head, even if it's total gibberish. Go on, go on."

"Uh, uh, a sweaty-toothed madman," David tells him. He blushes when hearing people laugh.

"Good God, boy, there's a poet in you, after all. There, close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close 'em," He reaches forward and places his hands over David's eyes and spins them in a circle, "Now, describe what you see."

"Uh, I-I close my eyes."

"Yes?" He encourages.

"Uh, and this image floats beside me."

"A sweaty-toothed madman?"

"A sweaty-toothed madman," David repeats, "with a stare that pounds my brain."

"Oh, that's excellent. Now, give him action. Make him do something!" Mr. Denton continues. He moves his hands from David's eyes but David keeps them tightly shut.

"Hi-His hands reach out and choke me," David stutters.

"That's it. Wonderful. Wonderful."

"And, and all the time he's mumbling," David continues on.

"What's he mumbling?"

"M-Mumbling, "Truth. Truth is like, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold—" David freezes when hearing his classmates laugh. He immediately opens eyes.

Mr. Denton waves his hands at the class, silencing them and reaches forward to hide David's eyes, "Forget them, forget them. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket."

"Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream!" He finished and opened his eyes but he only stared at Mr. Denton.

"Don't you forget this," Mr. Denton says.

David nods and slowly takes his seat, not daring to look at his friends and because of that he missed Jack's fond smile.

—

"Attaboy, Crutchie, inhale deeply," Spot grins, placing his own pipe in his mouth. A sort of sweet smell filling the air.

"My dad collects a lot of pipes," Race tells them.

"Really? Mine's got thirty," Spot says.

"Your parents collect pipes? Oh, that's really interesting," Crutchie fakes interest.

"Come on, Romeo. Join in," Spot says offering him a pipe and light.

"Yeah, Romeo, we're from the government," Race jokes, "We're here to help, man."

"What's wrong?" Spot asks him.

"It's Chris," Crutchie teases, dangling the picture Spot had shown them at there first meeting, "Here's a picture of Chris for you!"

"Smoke that. Put that in your pipe and smoke it."

"That's not funny," Romeo says rolling his eyes.

"Knock it off," Spot tells them, "Smoke your pipes."

"Jack!" Race shouts as the self-proclaimed actor makes his way into the cave.

"Friend, scholar, Welton men," Jack says with a laugh.

"What is that, Jack?" Race questions.

"Duh. It's a lamp, Race," Crutchie says looking at the tattered thing closely.

"No. This is the god of the cave," Jack grins, pulling off the lamp shade and showing them the statue of a man.

"The god of the cave," Race repeats.

"Spot, what are you doing?" Crutchie asks when the boy plays (terribly) a saxophone.

"What do you say we start this meeting?" He rises and plays a few more notes.

"Gentlemen, "Poetrusic" by Sean Conlon," Spot says.

"Oh, boy. He's gonna play!"

"Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling. Gotta do more. Gotta be more. Chaos screaming, chaos dreaming." He badly plays a few more notes. "Gotta do more! Gotta be more!"

Slowly, Spot transitions into a smooth tune surprising all the boys.

"Wow!" Race says to himself, admiring the boy across from him.

"That was nice. That was great. Where did you learn to play like that?" Crutchie asks him.

"My parents made me take the clarinet for years."

"I love the clarinet," Albert says.

"I hated it," Spot disagrees, "The saxophone. The saxophone is more sonorous."

"Vocabulary," Race teases.

"I can't take it anymore," Romeo mumbles, putting his head in his hands, "If I don't have Chris, I'm gonna kill myself!"

"Romeo! You've gotta calm down," Spot says, looking at his friend with wide-eyes.

"No, Sean. That's just my problem. I've been calm all my life. I'll do something about that," Romeo immediately stands up.

"Where are you going?" Jack asks.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna call him!" Romeo says, not catching his mistake, "Yes?"

"Did he say him?" Jack asks curiously. The other boys shrug and chase after Romeo.

"Hello?" Chris says, Romeo immediately hangs up.

"He's gonna hate me. The Danburry's will hate me. My parents will kill me," He argues with himself, "All right, goddamn it. You're right. Carpe diem. Even if it kills me."

David watches curiously as Romeo picks up the phone and dials the number. Jack leans on his shoulder, David quickly looks back and smiles at him.

"Hello?" Chris repeats.

"Hello, Chris?" Romeo says shakily.

"Yes," The boy says nicely.

"Hi. This is Romeo DeJesus."

"Oh, yes. Romeo. Glad you called," Chris laughs.

"He's glad I called," Romeo whispers to his friends.

"Listen, Cher's parents are going out of town this weekend, so he's having a party. Would you like to come?" He asks.

"Would I like to come to a party?" Romeo asks in surprise.

"Yes. Say, yes," Spot whispers to him.

"Friday? Um—"

"Well, sure."

"About seven?" He asks.

"Okay, great. I-I'll be there, Chris," Romeo smiles.

"You can call me Specs, all my friends do," He offers.

"Oh all right, uh Specs. Friday night at the Danburry's. O-Okay. Thank you."

"Okay. Bye."

"Thank you. I'll see you. Bye."

"Yawp!" He shouts, "Can you believe it? He was gonna call me. He invited me to a party with him!" Romeo continues not caring that he basically outed himself.

"At Chet Danburry's house," Spot says slowly.

"Cher," Romeo corrects, deciding he should just tell them considering he'd already messed up. "Uh Chris isn't a girl—"

"Yeah?" Spot asks, crossing his arms.

"Well?" Romeo asks nervously.

"So you're—" Albert begins.

"Yeah," Romeo shuffles his feet nervously.

None of the boys say anything, so Spot speaks up. "So, you don't really think he means you're going with him?"

"Well, of course not, Spot," thankful for change the subject, "But that's not the point. That's not the point at all."

"What is the point?"

"The point, Sean, is, uh—"

"Yeah?"

"...That he was thinking about me. I've only met him once, and already he's thinking about me. Damn it. It's gonna happen, guys. I feel it. He is going to be mine." He flips his scarf over his shoulder, humming to himself.

“Carpe. Carpe!" Jack teases.

"What if he's not even gay?" Crutchie asks.

"Carpe Diem!" Romeo shouts running up the stairs, everyone chases after him.

—

"Davey?" Jack whispers that night when they're lying in bed. Jack lays on his side to stare at the boy across the room, "About Romeo?"

"Wh-what about him?"

"About him being, you know..."

"Gay?"

"Uh, yeah," Jack says awkwardly.

"I don't mind," David replies. "Do...do you?"

"No," Jack says, "I think maybe...maybe I am too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah.“ 


	7. The Worlds First Unmanned Flying Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world’s first unmanned flying desk set, oh! And Romeo goes to a party.

"No grades at stake, gentlemen. Just take a stroll."

David watches as Albert, Romeo and Crutchie all begin walking in a large circle. The people around him begin clapping.

"There it is," Denton says and begins clapping along, "I don't know, but I've been told—"

"I don't know, but I've been told—" The class repeats.

"Doing poetry is old!"

"Doing poetry is old!"

"Left, left, left-right-left. Left, left, left-right-left. Left, halt!" Mr. Denton exclaims. The boy's immediately stop walking.

"Thank you, gentlemen," He says, "If you noticed, everyone started off with their own stride, their own pace. Mr. Morris, taking his time. He knew he'll get there one day. Mr. DaSilva, you could see him thinking, "Is this right? It might be right. It might be right. I know that. Maybe not. I don't know." Mr. Kasprzak, driven by deeper force. Yes. We know that. All right. Now, I didn't bring them up here to ridicule them. I brought them up   
here to illustrate the point of conformity: the difficulty in maintaining your own beliefs in the face of others.

"Now, those of you...I see the look in your eyes like, "I would've walked differently." Well, ask yourselves why you were clapping. Now, we all have a great need for acceptance. But you must trust that your beliefs are unique, your own, even though others may think them odd or unpopular, even though the herd may go, "that's bad." Robert Frost said, "two roads diverged in a wood and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the  
difference."

"Now, I want you to find your own walk right now. Your own way of striding, pacing. Any direction. Anything you want. Whether it's proud, whether it's silly, anything. Gentlemen, the courtyard is yours."

David watches as the other students begin laughing and doing there own things. Some taking it silly whereas some just doing whatever. David slowly walked back and forth in a line, feeling a bit awkward.

"You don't have to perform. Just make it for yourself. Mr. Conlon? Will you be joining us?" Mr. Denton asks.

"Exercising the right not to walk!" Spot responds.

"Thank you, Mr. Conlon. You just illustrated the point. Swim against the stream!"

—

"David?" Jack says in confusion when seeing the curly haired boy sitting outside, "Hey."

David looks up at him, "Oh, hey."

"What's going on?" Jack asks him.

"Nothing," David says then hesitantly adds, "Today's my birthday."

"Is today your birthday? Happy birthday!" Jack grins.

"Thanks."

"What'd you get?" Jack asks curiously when noticing the present sitting beside him.

"My parents gave me this," David says and holds up the desk set.

Jack inspects it, "Isn't this the same desk set—"

"Yeah, yeah," David says, "They gave me the same thing as last year."

"Oh," Jack answers.

"Oh," David repeats.

"Maybe they thought you needed another one," Jack jokes, laughing.

David looks up at him and laughs along. Jack looks right at him and David quickly looks away, "Maybe they weren't thinking about anything at all. Uh, the funny thing is about this is I...I didn't even like it the first time."

"Dave," Jack says seriously. He reaches over and lifts the desk set off the ground, "I think you're underestimating the value of this desk set. I mean, who would want a football or a baseball, or—

"Or a car," David adds with a smile.

"...Or a car," Jack laughs, "If they could have a desk set as wonderful as this one? I mean, if, if I were ever going to buy a, a desk set twice, I would probably buy this one both times. In fact, its...its shape is, it's rather aerodynamic, isn't it?" Jack goes to the edge of the small bridge and holds it up, "I can feel it. This desk set wants to fly." He mimics throwing it and David quickly rushes to his feet.

"David? The world's first unmanned flying desk set," Jack says and hands David his present. David wastes no time in throwing it, shouting as he does.

"Oh, my!" David laughs as papers fly around them. Jack laughs with him.

"Well, I wouldn't worry," Jack tells him, "You'll get another one next year."

David laughs again and turns to look at Jack. Jack was already smiling at him and David couldn't help himself. David looked around to see if their was anyone else walking by. David grabbed Jack by the lapels of his coat and pulled him in for a hug. He felt Jack tense before relaxing and holding David a bit tighter.

"Thanks, Jack," David whispers as he moves away from the hug.

Jack nods, unable to say anything. David stares at him at him and Jack stares right back before grabbing David's hands and kissing him. David   
feels his breath catch as Jack presses his lips against his. It only takes a few minutes for David to process what was happening and kiss him back.

—

"To live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life," They all recite as they climb into the cave. David sits across from Jack, his face still red from the events of earlier that evening.

The sound of giggling causes all the boys to go quiet.

"Oh, my God!" Albert whispers.

"Is this it?" A girl asks.

"Yeah, this is it. Go ahead, go on in. It's my cave. Watch your step," Spot says next.

"We're not gonna slip, are we?" Another girl asks.

David stares at them with wide eyes as they stumble into the cave.

"Hi," One says.

"Hello." Crutchie quickly rises and hits his head on the top of the cave. David hides a laugh.

"Hi, you guys. Meet, uh, Gloria and—" Spot trails off.

"Tina," The girl says sounding offended that he forgot her name.

"Tina," Spot repeats, "This is the pledge class of the Dead Poets Society."

"Guys, move. Move. Come on, folks. It's Friday night. Let's get on with the meeting," Spot says when the boys won't move from their spot.

Once everyone was situated Spot spoke again, "Guys, I have an announcement to make. In keeping with the spirit of passionate experimentation of the Dead Poets, I'm giving up the name Sean Conlon. From now on, call me Nuwanda."

"Nuwanda?" Crutchie laughs.

"Nuwanda?" Jack repeats.

—

Romeo peaks his head through the front door, "Hello? Hello, Specs?" He closes the door behind and stares in the mirror for a second and combs his hair back.

"Romeo!" He hears Specs shout.

"Hi," Romeo says his heart beating quickly as he runs towards him.

"You made it. Great! Bring anybody?" Specs asks him, adjusting his glasses.

"No."

"No," Specs repeats then, "Ginny, Cher's sister, is here. Wait. I have to go find Cher. Why don't you go downstairs where everybody is?" He runs up the stairs but calls back down, "Make yourself at home."

"But I—" Romeo sighs.

He heads downstairs where couples were dancing and making out and grimaced. Romeo wandered back upstairs and into the kitchen.

"Hey, you Mutt Sanders' brother? Bubba, this guy look like Mutt Sanders to you or what?"

"You're his brother?" 'Bubba' asks.

"No relation. Never heard of him. Sorry, guys."

"Where's your manners? Mutt Sanders' brother, we don't even offer him a drink. Here. Go have some whiskey, pal."

Romeo stares at the cup, "Whoa, I, uh, I don't really drink—"

"To Mutt," Bubba says.

"To Mutt," The other repeats. 

Romeo sighs and holds up his glass, "To Mutt."

"Now, how the hell is old Mutt, anyway?"

"Yeah. What's ol' Mutter been up to, huh?"

"I don't really know Mutt," Romeo repeats and Bubba pours them another shot of whiskey.

"To Mighty Mutt."

"To Mighty Mutt."

"To Mighty Mutt."

"Well, listen, I gotta go find Patsy. Say hello to Mutt for me, okay?" Bubba says patting Romeo on the shoulder.

"Will do," Romeo tells him.

"Yeah. Hell of a guy, your brother Mutt."

—

"We gonna have a meeting or what?" Spot asks his friends after a long silence.

"Yeah. If you guys don't have a meeting, how do we know if we wanna join?" Gloria asks innocently.

"Join?" Jack splutters.

""Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate,"" Spot says leaning close to Tina.

"That's so sweet," Tina giggles.

"I made that up just for you," Spot smiles.

David tries not to roll his eyes. He looks over at Jack who was hiding a smile.

"You did?" Tina asks.

Race, who was sitting beside David, scoffs. David looks over at him but Race was glaring at Spot with his arms crossed.

"I'll write one for you too, Gloria. "She walks in beauty like the night. She walks in beauty like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies. All that's best, dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes."

"That's beautiful," Gloria sighs.

"There's plenty more where that came from."

—

Romeo stumbles downstairs, a glass of something in his hands. He steps over the couple making out and sits on the couch. Another couple leans against him and Romeo pushes them away. He moves to get up but sees Specs asleep close to where he was sitting. Romeo groans and leans back, "God help me. Carpe diem."

He downs the last of his drink and sets it on the table. Romeo stares at Specs who's glasses were askew, Romeo quickly fixed them

"Cher! Cher! Look!" Someone shouted.

"What?" The girl asks.

"It's Mutt Sanders' brother!"

"Huh?"

"Specs, what—" Specs asks, sitting up on the couch.

"And he's feeling up your guy!" Everyone looks at him in a disgusted manner.

"What are you doing?" Specs asks him.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cher shouts at him. Romeo only stares.

"Cher! Cher, don't!" Specs says. The girl storms over to Romeo and never had Romeo been scared of a girl until now.

"Now, Cher, I know this looks bad, but you've gotta—" Romeo is cut off by a fist connecting with his nose.

"Cher, no! You'll hurt him! No! No! Stop it! Leave him alone!"

Romeo hides his face as the girl tries desperately to hit him again, shouting curses and slurs.

"Cher, stop it!"

"Bastard!"

"Romeo, are you all right?" Specs asks leaning down to look at Romeo's nose.

"Chris, get the hell away from him!" Cher orders.

"Cher, you hurt him!"

"Good!"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Romeo mumbles.

"It's okay. It-It's okay," Specs tells him.

"Next time I see you, you die," Cher growls pointing a finger at Romeo.

—

"Go ahead, pass it around," Tina says holding up a flask.

"Me and Race are working on a hi-fi system. It shouldn't be that hard to, uh, to put together," Crutchie tells Gloria pointing towards Race. "Yeah. Uh, I might be going to Yale. Uh, uh, but, I, I might not."

"Don't you guys miss having girls around here?" Gloria asks.

"No," Race says and glares at her.

"That's part of what this club is about. In fact, I'd like to announce I published an article in the school paper, in the name of the Dead Poets," Spot smirks.

"What?" Albert shouts.

"Demanding girls be admitted to Welton," Spot tells them.

"You didn't," Crutchie denies.

"So we can all stop beating off," Spot adds.

"How did you do that?" Jack asks.

"I'm one of the proofers. I slipped the article in," Spot shrugs.

"Spot!" Race shouts angrily, "It's all over now! We're done for because of you!"

"Why? Nobody knows who we are," Spot says just as angrily.

"Well, don't you think they're gonna figure out who wrote it? They're gonna come to you and ask to know what the Dead Poets Society is. Sean, you had no right to do something like that!" Albert argues.

"It's Nuwanda, Albert," Spot retorts.

"That's right. It's Nuwanda," Gloria says.

"God, would you shut up!" Race yells at her. David stares at him with wide eyes and presses a hand to his shoulder. Race takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"Are we just playing around out here, or do we mean what we say? If all we do is come together and reach a bunch of poems to each other. What the hell are we doing?" Spot argues.

"All right, but you still shouldn't have done it, Sean. This could mean trouble. You don't speak for the club," Jack tells him calmly.

"Hey, would you not worry about your precious little neck? If they catch me, I'll tell them I made it up," Spot shrugs again.

—

"I can't believe you Spot!" Race hisses as they walk back towards the school. Spot looks over at him with wide eyes. "Bringing those—girls and publishing the article. What the fuck, Sean?"

"It's—"

"Nuwanda, yeah I know," Race grumbles.

"Racer," Spot mumbles and reaches over to take his hand but Race quickly crosses his arms. "Race...c'mon! It'll be fine!"

Race rolls his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Racer," Spot says quietly. Race looks over at him. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

Race smiles and rolls his eyes.

"Seriously," Spot says, "I'll do anything."

Race stops in his tracks. Spot stands beside him. "Anything?"

"Mhm," Spot grins.

Race looks at the group far ahead of them and smiles. "Kiss me."

Spot grins and pulls Race close to him, kissing him quickly. Race immediately wraps his arms around Spot's neck to bring him even closer. Race smiles as Spot pulls away first, breathing deeply. "Do you think they'll notice we aren't following?" Spot whispers.

"They haven't noticed yet," Race smirks. Spot grins and pulls him in for another bruising kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have now excuses as to why I haven’t updated this or anything else :\


	8. Mr. Kelly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot gets in trouble, Jack’s dad finds out about the play & Romeo reads Specs a poem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey literally no joke it takes me days to finish watching dps bc it upsets me so idk how fast these updates will be coming since we’re close to the end. (I’m watching the movie as I write for actions etc). enjoy!!

David wipes his sweaty palms on his khakis as he rises from his seat in the auditorium. He watches as the teachers rush into the room along with the head of the school. He feels Jack's hand brush against his own and it calms him only a little bit.

"Sit," Mr. Pulitzer orders. "In this week of Welton's Honor there appeared a profane and unauthorized article. Rather than spend my valuable time ferreting out the guilty persons— and let me assure you I will find them— I'm asking any and all students who knows anything about this article to make themselves known here and now.

"Whoever the guilty persons are, this is your only chance to avoid expulsion from this school."

As soon as Pulitzer stopped talking, a phone began to ring. David straightened up and looked around trying to find out where it was coming from.

"Welton Academy. Hello," Spot's voice rung out through the auditorium. David saw Jack tense up for a moment. "Yes, he is. Just a moment."

David watches as Spot stand up and holds out the phone, "Mr. Pulitzer, it's for you. It's God. He says we should have girls at Welton!"

David sighs deeply and looks over at Jack who is hiding his face in his hands. He leans over to see Race, who's face has turned more pale than usual and he was glaring at the back of Spot's head.

—

"Wipe that smirk off your face. If you think, Mr. Conlon, that you're the first to try to get thrown out of this school, think again. Others have had similar notions and have failed just as surely as you will fail," Mr. Pulitzer says.

Spot stared straight ahead, not refusing to wipe the smirk from his face.

"Assume the position."

Spot fights the urge to roll his eyes as he leans over.

"Count aloud, Mr. Conlon."

—

Spot walks up the stairs carefully, trying not to show how much pain he actually was in. He felt tears well up in his eyes from embarrassment but refused to cry. He kept his head up as he walked down the hallway to his room. Spot refused to look over at Race.

"You kicked out?" Jack asks him almost immediately.

"No," Spot says through clenched teeth.

"So what happened?" Jack pries.

"I'm to turn everybody in, apologize to the school and all will be forgiven," Spot tells him.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Jack asks him, "Spot!"

"Damn it, Jack. The name is Nuwanda," Spot says and shuts the door to the dorm room. Spot lays (with difficulty) on the bed and stares at the ceiling. Someone knocks on his door but he ignores it.

They knock again. Spot ignores it.

"Damn it, Spot! It's me!" Race says from the other side. Spot sits up and wipes his eyes quickly.

"Come in!" Spot says. Race enters the room cautiously and Spot smirks.

"Oh stop that," Race says immediately when looking at Spot.

"What?" Spot asks him.

"With that stupid smirk," Race says and Spot frowns. "I know it hurts." Race tries not to laugh at his own sentence.

"I've been beat worse than a few spankings with a paddle," Spot scoffs and crosses his arms.

"What?" Race asks him.

"Nothing," Spot immediately says. Race quickly takes a seat beside Spot.

"What do you mean?" He presses.

"Nothing!" Spot shouts. "I was just saying that I can handle a few beatings."

"Yeah?" Race asks, "You don't have to act so tough all the time, Sean. No one is expecting you to be tough."

Spot doesn't anything in response.

"Sean," Race sing songs and scoots closer to him. "You can cry if you wanna."

"I don't wanna!" Spot glares at him and crosses his arms like a five year old.

Race rolls his eyes and pulls Spot in for a kiss. "That was a stupid stunt," Race whispers against his lips.

"You have to admit it was funny," Spot says, kissing Racetrack again.

"You don't even like girls," Race mumbles, pulling away again. Spot nods in agreement and pulls Race closer.

—

"Creak," Spot imitates. He hits the drum once, "He started walking around towards my left. Creak. Creak. "Assume the position, Mr. Conlon."" He smiles at the laughter around him.

The door opens and all the boys surrounding Spot quickly rise.

"It's all right, gentlemen," Mr. Denton says.

"Mr. Denton!" Spot greets, placing his sunglasses on top of his head.

"Mr. Conlon. That was a pretty lame stunt you pulled today," Mr. Denton tells him.

"You're siding with Mr. Pulitzer? What about   
Carpe diem and sucking all the marrow out of life and all that?" Spot asks angrily.

"Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone. Sure there's a time for daring and there's a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for," Mr. Denton explains.

"But I thought you'd like that."

"No. You being expelled from school is not daring to me. It's stupid, 'cause you'll miss some golden opportunities."

"Yeah. Like what?" Spot challenges.

"Like, if nothing else, the opportunity to attend my classes. Got it, Ace?" Mr. Denton asks him.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Keep your head about you. That goes for the lot of you."

"Yes, Captain," The boys say in unison.

"Phone call from God," Mr. Denton says under his breath. "If it had been collect, it wouldn't be daring."

—

Jack rushes back to his dorm after play rehearsal. He grinned to himself as he recited his lines. ""But, room, Fairy! Here comes Oberon.""

Jack stops in surprise when seeing someone in his dorm, "Father."

"Jack," His father says.

"Wait a minute. Before you say anything, please let me ex—"

"Don't you dare talk back to me!" Mr. Kelly yells, "It's bad enough that you've wasted your time with this, this absurd acting business. But you deliberately deceived me! How, how...how did you expect to get away with this? Answer me. Who put you up to it? Was it this new man? This, uh, Mr. Denton?"

Jack flinches, "No. Nobody...I thought I'd surprise you. I've gotten all A's in every class!"

"Did you think I wasn't going to find out?" Mr. Kelly asks his son, ""Oh, my niece is in a play with your son," says Mrs. Larkin. "No, no, no," I say, "you must be mistaken. My son's not in a play." You made me a liar of me, Jack! Now, tomorrow you go to them and you tell them that you're quitting!"

Jack flinches away as his father raises his hand in anger. He quickly recovers, "No, I can't. I have the main part. I am helping painting the backdrops! The performance is tomorrow night!" Jack tries to keep his voice calm.

"I don't care if the world comes to an end tomorrow night. You are through with that play. Is that clear? Is that clear?"

Jack shrinks in on himself, "Yes, sir."

"I made a great many sacrifices to get you here, Jack, and you will not let me down."

"No, sir."

—

After dinner Jack makes his way to Mr. Denton's office. He knocks on the door gently.

"It's open!" Jack takes a hesitant step inside, "Jack, what's up?"

"Can I speak to you a minute?"

"Certainly. Sit down," Mr. Denton says.

Jack looks at the books in the chair and lifts them up. "I'm sorry. Here."

"Excuse me. Get you some tea?" Mr. Denton asks him as he finds a new place to set the books.

"Tea. Sure."

"Like some milk or sugar in that?" Mr. Denton asks as he hands it over to Jack.

"No, thanks." Jack looks around the tiny room.  "Gosh, they don't give you much room around here."

"No, it's part of the monastic oath. They don't want worldly things distracting me from my teaching," Mr. Denton explains to him.

Jack takes a long look at the woman in a picture frame, "She's pretty."

"She's also in London. Makes it a little difficult," Mr. Denton jokes.

"How can you stand it?" Jack asks him suddenly.

"Stand what?"

"You can go anywhere. You can do anything. How can you stand being here?"

"'Cause I love teaching. I don't wanna be anywhere else." Mr. Denton stares at Jack for a moment before asking, “What's up?”

He waist patiently for Jack to collect his thoughts.

“I just talked to my father. He's making me quit the play at Henley Hall. Acting's everything to me. I—But he doesn't know. He…I can see his point. We're not a rich family like Race’s, and we—But he's planning the rest of my life for me, and h-he’s never asked me what I want,” Jack spills.

“Have you ever told your father what you just told me? About your passion for acting. You ever show him that?”

“I can’t,” Jack says immediately.

“Why not?”

“I can't talk to him this way,” Jack tells him.

“Then you're acting for him, too. You're playing the part of the dutiful son. I know this sounds impossible, but you have to talk to him. You have to show him who you are, what your heart is,” Mr. Denton says.

“I know what he'll say. He'll tell me that acting's a whim and I should forget it. That how they're counting on me. He'll just tell me to put it out of my mind, "for my own good."”

“You are not an indentured servant. If it's not a whim for you, you prove it to him by your conviction and your passion. You show him that And if he still doesn't believe you, well, by then you'll be out of school and you can do anything you want,” Mr. Denton tells him.

“There’s not only that,” Jack says, hiding his face in his hands. “I like someone I shouldn’t.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, surely it’s not wrong? Is it?” He looks at Mr. Denton who is watching him carefully. “My dad would kick me out if he ever found out. It seems whatever I do I’m always messing up and disappointing someone.”

Mr. Denton opens his mouth to reply but Jack quickly changes the topic.

“What about the play? The show's tomorrow night,” Jack asks him.

“Well, you have to talk to him before tomorrow night.”

“Isn't there an easier way?” Jack asks him desperately.

“No.”

“I’m trapped,” Jack says wiping at his eyes.

“No, you're not.”

Jack nods his head and leaves Mr. Denton’s office. He numbly walks back to his dorm. Jack opens the door and forces a smile to David who was reading a book in his bed. Jack lays his sweater on the back of his chair as he changes into his pajamas.

“Where were you? I couldn’t find you!” David exclaims, setting his book down.

“With Mr. Denton,” Jack says, laying on David’s bed. He lays his head on his boyfriend’s chest. Jack focuses on David’s heartbeat.

“Oh?” David asks.

“Yeah. I talked to him about the play,” Jack says softly. “My dad found out I was in it.”

“How?” David asks loudly.

“Someone he knows told him apparently,” Jack says miserably, “He wants me to quit.”

“The sho-ow is tomorrow!” David stutters. “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna still do the play,” Jack says, “I guess I’m going to talk to my dad.”

  
—

Romeo holds the flowers a bit tighter in his hands as he runs into the public school, “Specs!” He shouts looking for the familiar boy.

He stops a group of people walking by, “Chris Noel. Do you know where he is?”

“Um, I think he’s in room 111.”

“Thanks!”

Romeo spots Specs before he enters the classroom and Romeo calls out for him, “Specs!”

“Romeo, what are you doing here?” Specs hisses, pulling him out of sight.

“I came to apologize for the other night. I brought you these and a poem I wrote for you,” Romeo tells him. He offers Specs the flowers but Specs doesn’t take them.

“Knox, don't you know that if Cher finds you here she'll kill you?”

“I can't care. I love you, Specs.”

“Romeo, you’re crazy!”

“Look, I acted like a jerk and I know it. Please, accept these. Please,” Romeo attempts.

“No. No—I, I can't. Forget it,” Specs tells him. He turns on his heel and walks into the classroom. Romeo doesn’t give up and follows him into the classroom.

“Romeo, I don't believe this,” Specs mumbles and tries to hide his face.

“All I'm asking you to do is listen.” Romeo fiddles nervously with the paper in his hands. He didn’t care that people were watching him. He cleared his throat, “The heavens made a boy named Chris. To touch him would be paradise…”

—


	9. A Midsummers Night Dream

David laughs at the boys getting ready for Jack's play in the small bathroom. Race was talking to himself as was Albert. David reaches over and messes up Albert's perfectly combed red hair.

"Come on, Dave. I'm trying to fix this," Albert complains but David just laughs.

"Come on, Nuwanda. You're gonna miss Jack's entrance," David says.

"He said something about getting red before we left," Crutchie tells David.

"Getting red? What does that mean?" Albert asks him.

"I, uh—well, you know Spot."

"So, Spot, what's this "getting red" bit?" David asks him as he exits the bathroom stall. Spot just grins and shows them the big lightning bolt on his chest. David hides a laugh, "W-What is that?"

"It's an Indian warrior symbol for virility. Makes me feel potent, like it can drive anyone crazy," Spot explains with his usual smirk.

“Oh, come on, Sean. The people are waiting,” David jokes.

The boys all rush out of the bathroom, whistling some tune.

“Specs,” Romeo says and all the boys pause. “What are you doing here?”

David stares at the boy standing awkwardly at the front of the school. He pushed his glasses up his nose and crossed his arms.

“Gentlemen, let's go,” Denton’s voice calls.

“Go ahead, guys. I'll catch up,” Romeo says, eyes not moving from Specs.

“Yeah, come on, guys,” Spot says and begins to pull the boys away from Romeo.

“Chris, you can't be in here. I-If they catch you, we're both gonna be in big trouble!” Romeo says rushing towards him. He pulls him outside of the school.

“Oh, but it's fine—it’s fine for you to come barging into my school and make a complete fool out of me?” Specs asks him with a glare.

“I don't mean to make a fool out of you,” Romeo whispers.

“Well, you did. Cher found out. And it took everything I could do to keep her from coming here and killing you. Romeo, you have got to stop this stuff!” Specs says angrily.

“I can't, Chris. I love you!” Romeo declares.

“Romeo, you say that over and over. You don't, you don't even know me!” Specs says, obviously upset. “How do you even know I like boys?”

“Will you be joining us, Mr. DeJesus?” Mr. Denton calls out.

“Go ahead, Captain. I'll walk,” Romeo tells him.

“Romeo, Romeo…it just so happens that I could care less about you?” Specs asks him.

“Then you wouldn't be here warning me about Cher,” Romeo says taking a step closer to the boy.

“I have to go. I'm gonna be late for the play,” Specs takes a step back.

“Are you going with her?” Romeo asks, a bit jealous.   
      
“Cher? To a play? Are you kidding?” Specs scoffs.

“Then come with me,” Romeo offers.

“Romeo, you are so infuriating!”

“Come on, Specs. Just give me one chance. If you don't like me after tonight, I'll stay away forever.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I promise. Dead Poets Honor. You come with me tonight. And then, if you don't want to see me again, I swear I'll bow out,” Romeo holds up his hand.

“You know what would happen if Cher found out?”

“She won't know anything. We'll sit in the back and sneak away as soon as it's over.”

“And I suppose you would promise that this would be the end of it,” Specs says mostly to himself.

“Dead Poets Honor,” Romeo tells him.

“What is that?”

“My word,” Romeo says.

“You are so infuriating,” Specs laughs but follows him.

—

“Hey, there he is! Hey, hey!” Spot says when seeing Jack on stage.

“Shh, boys,” Denton reprimands.

“Either I mistake your shape and making quite,   
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite Call'd Robin Goodfellow:”

“Thou speak'st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile. When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile. Neighing in likeness of a filly foal: And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl, In very likeness of a roasted crab, And when she drinks, against her lips I bob And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale. The wisest aunt, telling the saddest tale—”

“He’s good. He's really good,” Spot whispers and David shushes him.

David sits at the edge of seat, heart beating fast in excitement for Jack. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

“—If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear.   
 And this weak and idle theme,  No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call, So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends.”

“Yawp!” Spot shouts as they all stand and applaud.

David looks around at everyone clapping and smiles even wider.

—

Jack follows his father silently, head down as he tried to ignore all the people congratulating him.

“Jack, Jack!” Spot calls, “You were great!”

“I can't, guys,” Jack tells them.

“Jack! Jack!” David shouts trying to grab hold of him.

“Jack. You have the gift. What a performance. You left even me speechless. You have to stay with—”

“Get in the car,” Mr. Kelly orders. “Denton, you stay away from my son.”

“Jack! Jack! Mr. Denton, come on,” Spot says angrily.

“Don't make it any worse than it is,” Mr. Denton tells him.

“Is it okay if we walk back? Captain?”

David watches the car drive away, unable to shake the bad feeling he had.

—

“We're trying very hard to understand why it is that you insist on defying us. Whatever the reason, we're not gonna let you ruin your life. Tomorrow I'm withdrawing you from Welton and enrolling you in Braden Military School. You're going to Harvard and you're gonna be a doctor,” His father says once they were settled.

“But that's ten more years. Father, that's a lifetime!” Jack says trying not to sound too upset, but failing.

“Oh, stop it. Don't be so dramatic. You make it sound like a prison term. You don't understand, Neil. You have opportunities that I never even dreamt of and I am not going to let you waste them,” His father says angrily.

“I've got to tell you what I feel.”

“We've been so worried about—” Mrs. Kelly begins but Mr. Kelly cuts her off.

“What? What? Tell me what you feel. What is it?”

“Is it more of this, this acting business? Because you can forget that. What?”

“Nothing,” Jack says quietly.

“Nothing. Well, then, let's go to bed.”

“I was good. I was really good,” Jack whispers.

“Go on, get some sleep.”

—


	10. Jack Kelly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please read with caution. Mentions (talk of) suicide. Please know i’m always here, I might suck at responding quickly but I love all of you very much and you can talk to me about anything (that you’re comfortable with).

David waited until he saw the lights go out before getting too close to the house. He saw a window open on the upper levels and quickly rushes even closer to the house. He looked through each window he could, trying to find where Jack could be.

David saw a figure in one of the windows and took a deep breath before tapping.

"Hey? Jack?" David said, tapping again.

There was enough light so when David put his face up to the glass he could see Jack standing still, something in his hand. David felt his heart beat quicken and he tried to open the  window. It wouldn't budge. David stared inside again at Jack who was wearing nothing but shorts and not moving. David tried to open the window again and cried in relief as it slid open.

"Jack!" David whisper-shouted as he crawled into the office. Jack looked over at him with wide eyes. "Jack, what the hell are you doing!"

David stares at the gun Jack was holding tightly. "Jack, you can't."

Jack doesn't say anything.

"Jack, give me the gun," David says reaching out for it, but Jack pulls it away. "Jack, I swear."

"I'm trapped, Davey," Jack tells him, his voice calm. "I have no where to go. I can't act...I can't do anything without approval of my father. And the only thing he approves of is me going to Harvard and becoming a doctor."

David stands frozen, unsure of what to say or do to help. "Jack, please," His voice cracked as tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

"How could you even think? How could you think for once...that kill-killing yourself would help? Jack, we need you! I need you to stay alive!" David whisper shouts, "I would loose my freaking mind if you were to die and not just me...Spot, Crutchie, Race, Romeo...we would all go insane without you!"

Jack looks over at him, no emotion evident on his face. David quickly wipes his eyes and holds out his hand.

"Jack..." David whispers, "I can't—can't do this without you. It will be okay. We can't do this without you. There has to be another way—"

"How do you know that?"

"I just know...Jack," David takes a careful step forward, "You have me, and Spot, and Race and Romeo and Crutchie and Albert—"

"Military school, Davey," Jack says. "They're sending me to military school."

David has no other answers. Jack stares at him helplessly and David yearned to reach out and hold him.

David takes another step forward and reaches for Jack's hand. He slowly pries the gun from Jack's fingers and pulls the shorter boy into a hug. "God...Jack," David mumbles as Jack cries.

"I can't," Jack mumbles over and over as David holds him tighter.

"You can, Jack," David says.

Jack pulls away from the hug and wipes at his eyes.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I'll be okay," Jack says, "Besides if my parents find you here it will only make things worse."

"Okay," David nods. "Promise?"

"Promise," Jack repeats.

He leans forward to press a kiss to Jack's cheek. "It'll be okay."

David turns to leave when Jack grabs hold of his coat, "Dave—" Jack says and David turns to face him. Jack kisses him roughly, almost desperately, and pulls David closer until he was flush against him. David felt his knees grow weak. Jack pulled away first, breathing heavily and lips slightly swollen. "Goodnight."

"Night," David says in a daze as he climbs back out the window.

—

"David," Someone whispers, "David."

David barely opens his eyes to see Spot leaning over him, "Oh, Spot," He mumbles and turns to go back to sleep.

He freezes when seeing the other boys in the doorway.

"What is it?" David asks, sitting up quickly.

"Jack's dead," Spot whispers, tears falling down his face.

David stares at him in disbelief then turns to the other boys who were sniffling and trying to hide their tears.

David climbed out of bed and grabbed his coat. He couldn't breath, he couldn't breathe at all. David ran out of the school and as far as he could go. He could hear all the boys following him. David looked around him at the freshly fallen snow and smiled despite the tears rolling down his face.

"It's so beautiful," He says.

David clutches his stomach, suddenly feeling sick. Jack couldn't be dead...David had just seen him, talked to him. He gagged and doubled over. David's breathing grew uneven as more and more tears fell.

"David. It's okay, David," Spot immediately joined him in the snow.

"Calm down," Crutchie says, also sitting down beside him. Crutchie rubbed comforting circles on David’s back but David still couldn’t breathe.

"It's all right, David," Spot says and grabs a handful of snow to press to David's face.

David sobbed and gasped for air as Spot continued to try and calm him down.

"David, it's okay. It's okay, Dave."

"It's all right. Now, listen," Spot begins.

David quickly interrupted him, "He wouldn't—He wouldn't have done it! I just talked to him! He said he wouldn't! Jack, he wouldn't have!"

"You can't explain it, David," Race cries.

"It was his father!"

"No!"

"He wouldn't have left us. If he knew—he wouldn't have. His dad was—his, his father did it. I saw him! I talked to him! He said—it was his father!" David yelled, curling in on himself.

"David."

"His father killed him!" David shouted, "Jack promised!"

"You can't explain it, David!" Race repeats.

David quickly stood and took off running again. He stumbled but caught himself.

"David!" Race yelled after him.

David wiped at his tears and yelled at the top of his lungs. "Jack!" He cried as he fell back into the snow. David's head throbbed and his throat was sore but he stood right back up and glared at the sky.

"You promised me! I should've stayed, oh God! I couldn't save you! Why would you leave me here? I can't…I can’t...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah


	11. O Captain, My Captain

"All my life. Thy light shall surely follow me. And in God's house forevermore. My dwelling place shall be. Amen."

David stared at the words in the Hymn book, unable to sing along. He still felt sick to his stomach, unable to do anything but cry.

"The death of Jack Kelly is a tragedy. He was a fine student. One of Welton's best. And he will be missed. We've contacted each of your parents to explain the situation. Naturally, they're all quite concerned. At the request of Jack's family, I intend to conduct a thorough inquiry into this matter. Your complete cooperation is expected."

—

"You told him about this meeting?" Spot asked for the millionth time.

"Twice."

"That's it, guys. We're all fried," Spot says and throws his hands up in anger.

"How do you mean?"

"Albert's a fink. He's in Nolan's office right now, finking," Spot explains.

"About what?" Crutchie asks.

"The club, Crutchie. Think about it. The board of directors, the trustees and Mr. Nolan. Do you think for one moment they're gonna let this thing just blow over? Schools go down because of things like this. They need a scapegoat."

At the sound of a door opening, the boys quickly put out the smokes. David watches the doorway carefully.

"What's going on, guys?" Albert asks.

"You finked, didn't you, Albert?"

"Finked? I didn't know what the hell you're talking about."

"You told Nolan everything about the club is what I'm talking about," Spot clarifies.

"Look, in case you hadn't heard, Conlon, there's something called an honor code at this school, all right? If a teacher asks you a question, you tell the truth or you're expelled," Albert explains.

"You little punk!" Spot lunges forward but Race grabs a hold of him.

"Sean!"

"He's a rat! He's in it up to his eyes, so he rattled to save himself!" Spot growls.

"Don't touch him, Sean. You do and you're out," Romeo warns.

"I'm out anyway!" Spot argues.

"You don't know that, not yet," Romeo continues.

"He's right there, Conlon. And if you guys are smart, you will do exactly what I did and cooperate. They're not after us. We're the victims. Us and Jack," Albert says calmly.

"What's that mean? Who are they after?"

"Why, Mr. Denton, of course. The "Captain" himself. I mean, you guys didn't really think he could avoid responsibility, did you?" Albert asks them.

"Mr. Denton responsible for Jack? Is that what they're saying?" Spot scoffs.

"Well, who else do you think, dumbass? The administration? Mr. Kelly? Mr. Denton put us up to all this crap, didn't he? If he wasn't for Mr. Denton, Jack would be cozied up in his room right now, studying his chemistry and dreaming of being called doctor."

David takes a deep breath, his face flushing with anger, "That is not true, Albert. You know that. He didn't put us to anything. Jack loved acting!"

"Believe what you want, but I say let Denton fry. I mean, why ruin our lives?" Albert asks.

Spot takes a step forward and punches Albert square in the nose. The red haired boy stumbles backwards from force and grabs his nose to keep it from bleeding.

"Sean..." Romeo says.

"You just signed your expulsion papers, Nuwanda," Albert glares, "And if the rest of you are smart, you'll do exactly what I did. They know everything anyway. You can't save   
Denton, but you can save yourselves."

—

David hesitantly knocks on Race's door, "Racer?"

"Go away. I have to study."

"What happened to Nuwanda?" David asks him.

"Expelled."

"What'd you tell 'em?"

"Nothing they didn't already know."

"David Jacobs."

David feels his heart race in fear as he follows them to Dr. Pulitzer's office.

"Hello, son," He hears his father say as he enters the office.

"Hello, darling," His mother smiles.

"Mom," David begins.

"Have a seat, Mr. Jacobs," Dr. Pulitzer says.

David hesitantly sits down beside his parents.

"Mr. Jacobs, I think we've pretty well put together what's happened here. You do admit to being a part of this Dead Poets Society?" He asks.

David only stares at him.

"Answer him, David," Mr. Jacobs says.

"Ye—es, sir," David responds.

"I have here a detailed description of what occurred at your meetings. It describes how your teacher, Mr. Denton, encouraged you boys to organize this club and to use it as a source of inspiration for reckless and self- indulgent behavior. It describes how Mr. Denton, both in and out of the classroom, encouraged Jack Kelly to follow his obsession with acting when he knew all along it was against the explicit order of Jack's parents. It was Mr. Denton's blatant abuse of his position as teacher that led directly to Jack Kelly's death.

"Read that document carefully, David. Very carefully. If you've nothing to add or amend, sign it."

"What's gonna happen to Mr. Denton?" David asks.

"I've had enough. Sign the paper, David," Mr. Jacobs says angrily, "You will not throw this away like your sister."

David stares at the document in disgust, but picks up the pen and stares at the other boys' signatures.

—

"Sit. I'll be teaching this class through exams," Dr Pulitzer says as he enters the classroom, "We'll find a permanent English teacher during the break. Who will tell me where you are in the Pritchard textbook?"

He looks around the classroom once, "Mr. Jacobs."

"Uh, in the, in the Pr—"

"I can't hear you, Mr. Jacobs."

"In the, in the, in the Pritchard?" David stutters.

Dr. Pulitzer stares at him before choosing someone else, "Kindly inform me, Mr. DaSilva."

"We skipped around a lot, sir. We covered the Romantics and some of the chapters on Post Civil War literature."

"What about the Realists?"

"I believe we skipped most of that, sir."

"All right, then, we'll start over. What is poetry?"

The door opens and David quickly turns. He feels guilty as he stares at Mr. Denton.

"Come," Dr. Pulitzer says.

"Excuse me. I came for my personals. Should I come back after class?" Denton asks him.

"Get them now, Mr. Denton."

"Gentlemen, turn to page 21 of the introduction. Mr. DaSilva, read aloud the excellent essay by Dr. Pritchard on "Understanding Poetry.""

"That page has been ripped out, sir," Albert tells him.

"Well, borrow somebody else's book."

"They're all ripped out, sir."

"What do you mean, they're all ripped out?"

"Sir, we, uh—"

David tries to hide the smile on his face.

"Never mind," He mumbles and gives Albert his textbook, "Read!"

""Understanding Poetry by Dr. J Evans Pritchard, Ph.D. To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme and figures of speech, then ask two questions: 1) How artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered and 2)..." He pauses when seeing Mr. Denton.

"How important is that objective? Question 1 rates the poem's perfection; question 2 rates its importance. And once these questions have been answered, determining the poem's greatness becomes a relatively simple matter. If the poem's score for perfection is plotted   
on the horizontal of a graph—"

David tries to catch Mr. Denton's eye as he begins to the leave the classroom. He feels his palms grow sweaty as he stands up, "Mr. Denton! They made everybody sign it."

"Quiet, Mr. Jacobs."

"You gotta believe me. It's true!"

"I do believe you, David," Denton says calmly.

"Leave, Mr. Denton."

"But it wasn't his fault!" David shouts.

"Sit down, Mr. Jacobs! One more outburst from you or anyone else, and you're out of this school! Leave, Mr. Denton. I said leave, Mr. Denton!"

David takes another deep breath and steps up and onto his desk, "O Captain! My Captain!"

"Sit down, Mr. Jacobs!"

David ignores him, his eyes focused on Mr. Denton in the doorway.

"Do you hear me? Sit down! Sit down! This is your final warning, Jacobs. How dare you? Do you hear me?"

"O Captain! My Captain!" Romeo says and David looks to see Romeo also on his desk.

"Mr. DeJesus, I warn you! Sit down!"

More and more students climb onto their desk and David smiles. He stares at Jack's empty desk as well as Spot's and feels a small pain in his heart. David smiles at Mr. Denton who was watching them.

"Sit down! Sit down. All of you. I want you seated. Sit down. Leave, Mr. Denton! All of you, down. I want you seated. Do you hear me? Sit down!" Dr. Pulitzer shouts but everyone ignores him.

"Thank you, boys. Thank you," Mr. Denton says and walks out of the old classroom.

**Author's Note:**

> You know that headcanon that David had an older brother that died? Yeah I used that in this fic.


End file.
